What It All Comes Back To
by freak of nature6
Summary: Back to the beginning with Bang. This takes a look at the beginnings of our favourite Grey's Anatomy couple from when it all started, from each of their perspectives. If you find it fun climbing into the character's heads, come join me for more Bang fun.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is mostly a character study, really getting inside of their heads. A lot of it is based on reflection, more so than action. For a more conventional Bang story, I'm working on _Someone Else's Dream. _ But this one came from a desire to flesh out the development of their relationship – we get such a fascinating beginning from the show, but as most self-respecting Bang fans, I wanted more!

So this is for everyone that wants more Bang, right from when it started!

_**Burke: **_

The first thing she'd been for him was entertainment. Every time the hospital had a new influx of interns, he amused himself with picking out the most intense, the most competitive. Watching the most headstrong battle it out in the beginning was always a fun show for the residents and attendings.

But this also enabled Burke to keep an eye out for who was most likely to excel, who was perhaps worthy to study closely under him, to specialize in cardiothoracic surgery.

Cristina distinguished herself early on. The night before starting work, she'd boldly introduced herself. Right in the middle of him turning the charm on for his date. Oh, he'd remember her.

He knew she'd want in on the procedure that first day. He considered her. He considered Grey, who was supposed to have the potential to live up to her name. He would be sure to pay special attention to Bailey's interns – he had a great respect for the resident, and knew that her interns had the potential to grow into skilled surgeons under her guidance.

Burke chose George for three reasons. Firstly, he'd both irritated and amused back with his backchat after failing to insert an IV, so Burke was interested to see how he'd handle the pressure of an O.R for the first time. Secondly, he was very submissive to authority, so he'd make a prime example for the other interns, to show how they must defer to their teachers. Thirdly, he was Bailey's intern. He wanted to scope out his potential early on.

He noticed Cristina's annoyed look, and barely suppressed a smirk after he delivered the verdict: the winner was George.

Those first few weeks with the interns, especially Bailey's, were interesting to say the least. Alex had the typical arrogance of a first year intern that needed to be put in his place, George and Izzie were struggling to find their feet. Meredith and Cristina seemed to make a point of pushing the boundaries.

They sought him out, in the men's bathroom, of all places, to ask he perform a procedure on a John Doe. A John Doe! Oh, they wanted a harvest surgery. He told them to whip one out, or get out of there. He rolled his eyes. Interns.

The gall of Bailey's interns was soon revealed when they went over his head to the chief. He was angry at first. He let Alex scrub in just to piss them off. But he noticed Cristina's skill in the harvest surgery nonetheless.

He watched her more closely after that. The ferocity of her competitiveness amused him. He was genuinely interested to see what she'd make of herself. She reminded him a little of himself during his residency, focused to the point of obsessive. Maybe even more obsessive.

And the entertainment continued. He leant against the doorframe of Liz Fallon's room as Cristina examined Liz and her chart, stoically taking Liz's jibes. He was impressed that she'd stand up to the formidable scrub nurse for the chance of a whipple surgery. Liz and Burke privately decided between them it would be more fun to withhold certain information from her – like the fact that the procedure wasn't going to happen. He had a little fun that day, asking her in the gallery of Shepherd's surgery of the nail guy what she was doing, and assuring her something would be happening soon when she asked if she should schedule the surgery.

Preston Burke treated interns however he liked – he was a good teacher, a great surgeon, and they were lucky to learn from him. But the look in Cristina's eyes when she realized Liz's purpose for being in hospital made him feel a pang of remorse. Something deeper stirred there, beyond the disappointment of missing out on an exciting surgery.

He saw another level of Cristina Yang when he walked into Liz's room as she arrested. Detached, emotionless Cristina, who had no ounce of attachment to her patients, was frantically trying to spur people into action. On a DNR patient. Burke told her to stop. She continued. He ordered her to stop. Was she ignoring him? He reached out and seized her by the shoulders, pulling her back.

"Do not resuscitate!" he yelled.

"Alright!" she roughly shrugged him off, looking at him venomously. She strode out of the room after calling the time of death.

Calling for the first time was a big deal for interns, but it was something they had to learn to shoulder. On their own, or perhaps with each other for support. Burke couldn't say the exact reason why he went looking for Cristina afterwards. He thought he'd had her figured out, but he had a strong feeling he was wrong about her.

He found her in the stairwell, and she tried to walk dismissively past him. He took hold of her upper arms to restrain her, and made her stand and face him. "We have to let her go," he said, quietly, evenly.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with regret. Burke stood as still as he could, her nearness suddenly very apparent. He held her gaze for that moment, trying to read all he could. She just gave a nod, and then walked away.

He couldn't give a clear explanation for his following actions. All he knew was that he was intrigued. He began to do things that attendings shouldn't do to interns: allowing his eyes to linger as she walked by, wondering what she looked like underneath those shapeless scrubs was not the only thing. He dug for personal details. She was a bundle of contradictions, and he wanted some answers.

He encountered Bailey at the nurses' station one day. "Promising bunch of interns this year?" He tried to sound off-hand, picking up a patient's chart and flicking through it.

"So far they're just your usual bunch of whiny suck-ups." She didn't look up from her chart.

"None who stand out to you thus far? I was just wondering who you think I should have my eye out for."

"It's too early to tell." She looked up at Burke curiously. "By why are you asking my opinion? You're the attending. Aren't you supposed to figure it out?"

Burke almost worked away, but decided to press it a little more. "Grey and Yang have caught my attention. Grey's quick on her feet, but I guess she was bred for this life. Yang has good precision in surgery, but I don't know her background."

"Well she's not your typical Beverly Hills Barbie, that's for sure."

Noticing that Bailey was still eyeing him curiously, he nodded, and continued on his way. So she was from Beverly Hills. He wouldn't have picked her for growing up in that environment. Something about there, the sun and the waves, implied easygoing, go with the flow type of people. In other words, the antithesis of Cristina.

Like most interns, he rarely saw her without a coffee cup in her hand. The sustenance of caffeine and adrenaline generated by surgeries were the only way to survive each day. So, he bought her a coffee.

It was a test. To gage her reaction. To see if his sudden preoccupation with her was one-sided, or perhaps reciprocated.

He purchased it from the front coffee cart, one he's seen her frequenting. Tracking her down to the nurses station, his own cup held in hand, he placed the coffee cup in front of her. She glances at it, then slowly up at him He reads her face: confused and skeptical. She wondered what the catch was. She would _always _wonder what the catch was.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "It's just coffee."

"Good," she said slowly, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment, before turning back to the desk.

"Okay," he said, picking up his coffee, and making to leave.

"Okay."

He paused around the corner. He waited a moment, then took a step backwards. She was walking away. And she was drinking the coffee.

He grinned. She took it. Maybe for most people that wouldn't hold any significance; but because it was Cristina, it did.

A past mistake came back to haunt him that day, meaning Cristina was pushed to the back of his mind. Somehow, it all came back to her though. Little did Burke know at this stage that this would soon become his life, his future.

When everything came back to Cristina.

A/N Next chapter, we get Cristina's perspective, up to the same moment.

Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Thanks for all the reviews guys! You rock. Here, as promised, we get to climb inside Cristina's head

_**Cristina:**_

The first thing he'd been for her was a symbolic figure. He symbolized everything she wanted to become – a brilliant surgeon who was renowned and suspected. A pioneer of new surgical methods, and an attending at a relatively young age. Not just an attending, but head of a department.

She knew that to surpass her fellow interns, she'd need to be bold. So at the 'meet and greet' ball that the hospital threw for the new interns the night before they started, she was ready. Whilst everyone else was socializing, she was on a mission: to personally introduce herself to all the significant surgeons, the ones who she wanted to study under. And she was aiming higher than just residents.

After introducing (or perhaps steamrolling a conversation) with Richard Webber, the Chief of Surgery, she sought out a few significant attendings. There were two that most surgical interns were dying to study under. One was the new head of neurosurgery, a hot shot from New York, Derek Shepherd.

The other was the head of cardiothoracic surgery, Preston Burke. His reputation for brilliance preceded him – as did his arrogance. But that didn't phase Cristina. She reasoned that any great surgeon could be justifiably arrogant. She introduced herself, and emphasized her wish to learn from him. Perhaps she interrupted him and his date – but so what? He was a surgeon. That came first for her, and she was sure it did for him too.

Perhaps someone less driven would have been distracted by something other than his brilliant credentials when first meeting him. Burke was more than an impressive surgeon, he also had an impressive physique. Tall a broad-shouldered, with a handsome face, he dominated the room. A smile from him, though rare, was genuine.

Cristina reflected a month or so into the program about when he moved from being a symbol, to a distraction. She would've killed for that surgery on the first day of work – but Bambi got it. A few weeks later, they went over his head to the chief. Perhaps not the wisest move, but she ultimately got to scrub in on a harvest surgery anyway. During the procedure, she fixated on his hands. Swift, skilled, precise. She was more determined than ever to gain that level of perfection.

When she snatched Liz Fallon from under the nose of her fellow interns – ha! – she was ecstatic at the thought of scrubbing in on a whipple surgery. They would be _so_ jealous. Plus, she wanted to see Burke in action again. She was hungry to learn, and so far, she thought he was the best teacher, when he'd give them the time of day. She was yet to learn that Bailey was giving them their most valuable lessons, most moments of every day.

What she hadn't expected was Burke to be so damned slow about the whole thing – telling her to follow up on inane tests, even sending her out from viewing the _coolest _surgery ever – removing nails from a guys head! – so she could get test results.

Liz Fallon read Cristina like an open book. But it didn't phase Cristina. Sure, it embarrassed her when she flaunted it in front of Burke. But she wanted that surgery. Liz Fallon was a strong willed woman, and Cristina could relate to that. She could respect that. What she couldn't relate to were the people that crowded around Liz's hospital bed, but everyone had to start somewhere.

"This hospital's got you interns by the balls," she told Cristina as she took her for an examination. "And it's easiest to get ahead if you've got nothing tying you down. Look at the determination in you eyes, girl! You want to get so far ahead you'll slam the door shut in anyone's face, won't you? Let me guess, no-one gets too close to you?"

"I do what I have to do," she answered shortly.

Though she was starting to get on her nerves a little, she was shocked when she realized why Liz Fallon was back in Seattle Grace – to die. She was so bewildered that she forgot to be pissed off at Burke for falsely misleading her about a surgery. She thought she'd seen something of a kindred spirit in Liz – a strong spirit, a fighting spirit. But this woman just surrendered to the cancer. Cristina would _never _surrender like that. She was adamant. She was a fighter. How could Liz just roll over and accept the consequences? You couldn't be a victim in life.

She rolled her eyes at herself. This is what she got for trying to identify with a patient. Screw Bailey's advice, it was back to cold detachment from now on.

Instinct took over when Liz Fallon was crashing. She'd trained for eight years to save lives. And Liz was a strong woman. She deserved a fighting chance. She didn't know why everyone else, especially the nurses were being so utterly _useless_, just standing there, insisting she was DNR. A deeper and firmer voice joined these, but Cristina had a singular focus. Getting that damn heart beating again. She was shaken from this when someone actually grabbed her, and pulled her back. Burke's eyes flashed with anger as he ordered her to not resuscitate.

She glared at him, and shrugged him off. She felt an odd sensation rising in her chest. She tried not to choke on her words, as she called the time of death, and left the room in a hurry. She sought refuge in the nearest bathroom, and leant her forehead against the door of the stall. She focused on the feeling of the cool metal, and concentrated on keeping her breathing steady. She'd just called her first death. She'd spent four years at med school, working her body to exhaustion so that she'd know how to save lives, whatever the situation.

She'd just called her first death. And the patient – Liz, she had wanted to die. She wanted it to end.

Knowing what would happen if she stood there wallowing one damn second longer, Cristina banged out of the bathroom, and into the stairwell, determined to find Bailey, to find something practical to do. She tried to continue past Burke, but he did it again: reaching out to take a hold of her, gripping her upper arms, more gently this time. After he was sure he had her attention, he released her. "We have to let her go."

How could his voice be so steady? He'd been like that in the room too. She knew her eyes were tinged with sadness as she met his. She found her breath hitched in her throat, for an entirely different reason this time. Oh, god. Nothing about this day made sense. She had to get out of there.

When did she start _noticing _Dr. Burke like that? Noticing when he strode by in the halls, always stoic, and businesslike. But she began to see beneath the surface, when his eyes flickered to her. Sure, she should be impressed by him. Any sane person aspiring to be a great surgeon would. But why were those lingering looks getting under her skin?

She decided to ignore it. She was tired, and probably just PMS. She hurriedly filled in a chart at the nurses station one day, when a dark hand began to slide a coffee cup towards her.

_What the…_she looked up to Dr. Burke standing next to her, casually sipping his coffee. She just stared at him, unsure of what else to do. He'd bought her coffee. Was there really more to this, than just sustained glances? She mentally shook herself. He was an attending, bringing her coffee.

No, that didn't make much more sense.

"It's just coffee."

_Of all the things to say…oh crap, it's my turn to talk now…_"good," she replied.

"Ok." He picked up his cup and left.

"Ok." She glanced at the cup for a moment. Just coffee? Well, who was she to waste it. She picked it up and sipped it as she walked away. A mocha latte, her favourite.

That man was good.

A/N Of course he's good! He's Burke. Speaking of which, we're back to the sexiest man alive next chapter. Woohoo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Burke**

Burke was fuming as Meredith left the O.R. What the _hell _had she been thinking? She had great potential, and had perhaps blown her career before it even started. She could have told him anytime about her slip, but did it in front of Mr. Patterson. And it hadn't even been her fault! Mrs. Patterson ventricle wall burst – she hadn't been the cause of that. But it may end up being her ruin anyway.

It preoccupied his mind a lot of the day – he didn't want Dr. Grey's career ended. People needed to realize that doctors weren't infallible, they were just as privy to mistakes as the average mortal. Sometimes doctors themselves needed reminders of that. He was abruptly pulled from his reflection when he encountered Cristina. She glanced at him, but said nothing. He cleared his throat.

"Dr. Yang."

"Dr. Burke."

He didn't have any idea what she was thinking. She was so incredibly guarded. He had a feeling that scene in the stairwell had been a momentary slip, but now all defenses were back up. She made some inane comment about the complicated bypass graft surgery, and he assured her he could handle it. She needed to at least know this about him, no matter what else she thought.

It had already been a long day when Bailey sought him out that night.

"Dr. Burke, I need a moment of your time."

Burke smiled at her tiredly. "I thought you'd at that bash of your interns by now?"

Bailey cracked a small smile. "A bash? It's still called a party, Dr. Burke."

"Are you insinuating something unflattering about me? My age, perhaps?"

"No, sir." He face turned serious, and she pulled out a file to show him. He took it, curious. "This is the file of a Mrs. Graves, the woman who had a towel extracted from under her lung earlier today. We believe it was left there after her last surgery with us."

Burke flipped open the folder, and was confronted with his name staring at him from the page. Oh, he remembered this patient. The awful feeling of wondering if he'd studied the body cavity closely enough. He was distracted as Bailey took the file back. "I'm sorry, Dr. Burke."

"How's the patient?"

"She'll make a full recovery, now. But she's had a very unpleasant five years. I wanted to show you before going to the Chief. Shall we?"

Burke's head snapped up. "Let me do it, Dr. Bailey." He held out his hand for the file. She clearly hesitated. "I will do it," he pressed. "I'd just prefer to find the right time."

She handed him the file. "Ok, Dr. Burke."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Just Dr. Yang, she found the file. She'll keep quiet until…this is resolved."

With that, she walked out, and Burke reopened the file, feeling numb.

He stayed at the hospital well into the night, staring blankly at the folder in his hands. His reflections about Meredith earlier in the day seemed somewhat ironic right now; as this was the rudest confrontation with his own fallibility as a surgeon he'd ever experienced. He agonized over what horror his carelessness had inflicted on Mrs. Graves. He'd intended to save her life, but he'd been destructive. He sighed deeply, and flipped the folder closed.

He slowly paced the halls to gather his possessions, and head home. How was he going to find the right time to tell the Chief? This could do more than harm his reputation. As he changed out of his scrubs, a further unsettling thought came to him – what must Cristina think of him? Was that what the look had been, when he asked her about the bypass graft? He groaned, not even wanting to consider why this bothered him so much. His only thought was that she probably wouldn't accept any more coffee from him. Not after this.

As he steeled himself walking into the Chief's office with Meredith the next morning, Burke knew things were said of him. About his arrogance, his overconfidence. And perhaps these things were true. But at his core, Preston Burke was honourable, and honest. So he was ready to do what he had to do, for both himself and Grey, in the next hour or so.

Though he pined after the man's job with every fibre of his being, Burke considered that perhaps the better man had the job, as he left Richard's office. He didn't know if he would have been so lenient, had he been chief, and someone had made a mistake of this magnitude. He'd sternly talked to the headstrong hospital lawyer, protecting both him and Meredith.

Richard stopped him at the door, as Meredith walked towards the anxious interns. "Dr. Burke, thank you for your honesty. Let there never be a repeat of this?"

Burke nodded. "Thank you, sir." And shook his hand. He then looked over to where the interns were, to find only one standing there.

She was looking at him in a way he hadn't seen before. What was that…admiration? Relief? He hoped Meredith had given him a good report, so she didn't completely despise him. She quickly ran to follow the others, and Burke turned to face a hellish today. A patient with not one but _two _collapsed lungs awaited him in the O.R.

Then, he faced what he'd been dreading. He pulled off his scrub cap as he paced the halls until he came into Mrs. Graves' room. George was talking with her, and wordlessly retreated to the corner at the sight of Burke, under the pretense of filling out her chart.

"Mrs. Graves? My name is Dr. Burke."

"Oh yes, I remember you. You're one of my handsome doctors from last time."

He sighed heavily, and did something he never did. He sat on her bed. "That's right, I am. Mrs. Graves, I'm the one that left the towel in you during your last surgery."

"Oh," she met his eyes, and Burke read some of the pain of the last five years in her tired eyes. "I can't begin to tell you how truly sorry I am, Mrs. Graves. It was a careless error on my part that I'm sure has caused you immeasurable discomfort that I can not begin to comprehend."

"You know, no-one believed me when I said I'd quit smoking. But I did." She looked at him severely, over the top of her lenses.

"You're obviously a very strong woman. I can only imagine you'd have to be, to endure what you've been through."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Alright, there's no need for flattery, young man. I already have a gentleman caller, I'm off limits." She smiled now, and Burke shifted, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Relax, I'm not going to sue. You have tough jobs, and I appreciate that. Plus, I've been treated well here." She nodded to where George was pretending not to watch in the corner. "But just stay away from towels in the future, ok? In fact, stay away from all types of linen, just to be on the safe side."

Burke gave her a small smile. "I'll do my best. Thank you for your generosity, Mrs. Graves."

"Yes, well. It's my bed time now, and it looks like it's yours."

Burke nodded, and stood up. "Dr. O'Malley, a word outside?"

George followed him, to outside her room. "I want to thank you for your care of Mrs. Graves. She's been through a trauma, and was obviously well-comforted. And you may have prevented a lawsuit."

"As much as I care about the hospital, sir, that wasn't my primary concern when taking care of Mrs. Graves."

"I know, O'Malley. You care about your patients, that's a good thing."

"Thank you."

Burke nodded, then tiredly sought out the closest on call room, ready to get as much sleep as was possible that night.

He found an empty room, and closed the door. He removed his shoes, and swiftly pulled his scrub top over his head. He stretched out his arms against the top bunk and leant his head forward, exhaling slowly. He was trying to process the day. It was one of the most challenging he'd faced in all his years as a surgeon.

He raised it again when he heard the door open, and wordlessly watched as Cristina entered. Her eyes searched his face, and she was obviously struggling with what to say. Her next action was what started his internal conflict. She locked the door, and Burke felt his control slipping. He knew he only had a few moments before potentially leaping off a cliff. And god, the landing could hurt.

She was struggling just as much as he was. He was still frozen to the spot. "Thanks for the coffee."

This was the moment. Where Cristina, the intriguing bundle of contradictions stood before him waiting. The hardass, headstrong, intern. _The intern _something inside his head warned, but he had already decided. He knew she'd be intoxicating even before he took that first step towards her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cristina:**

_It's just coffee. _

Yeah, right.

Cristina Yang had been cynical for most of her life. She was conditioned that way. Cynical about love, about the clichés of the commitment to marriage and family – your Dad leaving you at two years old can do that to you. She watched her mother morph into a Stepford wife, and stake her worth on her husband.

"I'm Mrs. Saul Rubenstein, wife of the oral surgeon?" Everyone needed to know exactly who he was.

Her stepfather was always polite to her, she guessed, because he loved her mother, and she was part of the package. But he never tried to get to know her. She needn't take that personally; he didn't really know his own daughter.

Her stepsister was even more painful than her mother. Claudia was two years older than Cristina, and spent most of her high school career giving blowjobs to quarterbacks. "My Dad's like, a famous doctor, and I'm head cheerleader!"

That was her source of pride.

So, Cristina was cynical about the worth of family. What were they to her? Her examples of what she _didn't _want to become, about what it meant to be abandoned. They were a good means to an end – her stepfather's money bought her fantastic escapism as a child, and the best education as an adult. She didn't like him so much, but she liked the insight she got from him into the surgical world.

She appreciated that her mother had been broken by her father – but did she have to put herself back together in such a meaningless way? Appearances were everything.

Yeah, right.

So Cristina learnt to survive on her own. This meant she had trouble making friends at school and college. She was witty and smart enough to attract acquaintances – but real friends? What was the point of them? Only as she got older, and she was introduced to the curveballs thrown by adulthood did she begin to understand the role of friends, for support and distraction. But her walls were high and thick by then – people needed to be pretty determined to be her friend to grab the ladder and climb it, to see what was behind the walls.

And boyfriends, with actual commitment involved? Forget it. She'd never said 'I love you.' She'd never had an occasion to. Sex, she could do. There were a few flings at college. She had her most serious boyfriend, Jeremy, at med school. He was studying to be a pediatrician. She didn't think she was the type of girl to attract a pediatrician, but there he was. He stayed with her for a year, and they had fun. The sex was awesome. She opened up to him more than she thought she could. But it wasn't enough for him.

"I'm in love with you, and you sure do like me a lot," he'd told her one night, in the rain. She rolled her eyes. What a cliché.

He'd told her she'd had a heart of stone. Cristina took this as a compliment. She hated that it hurt when he left her. Is this what it was like for her mother, when her father left? Cristina's defenses were up in full force after that, and harder than ever to penetrate.

She was skeptical and cynical by nature and nurture. And when an attending like buying her coffee, and sending her smoldering glances, it wasn't just coffee.

She could admit they were smoldering at this point, and something that tugged at her insides. She was guarded, but she was still a woman. When a surgeon as skilled as Burke, with gifted hands, and more than a shred of compassion – he'd sought her out after Liz died hadn't he? – paid her attention, she noticed.

Plus, he was _hot. _

Still, she was head before heart. So she tried to rationalize what she thought it meant. It pissed her off not to have the answers.

Cristina's thought processes were annoyingly interrupted that day, by a party. Not just a party._ The_ party. That's what Izzie was turning it into, a meet the boyfriend greet-turned invite every damned staff member in the hospital. "Why don't we start inviting patients?" she'd asked scathingly.

"I've got a bowel obstruction patient that wants to come," she'd replied with a grin.

"I doubt Meredith would want _him_ in the house," George added annoyingly, and Cristina rolled her eyes.

Meredith had a crappy day – she had a possible lawsuit after admitting in front of a patient's husband she may have nicked his heart. She had a meeting with the Chief the next day.

Bailey set Cristina to do some detective work, when a towel – of all things – was discovered in a patient's body cavity.

She scoured the files room, trying to push Burke's face out of her mind. What half-witted, Jerry Springer-esque surgeon had left a towel inside that patient five years earlier? If Alex had been at Seattle Grace then, she would have bet a lot of money on him. Finally, she discovered the 'D' box. Pulling open the folder, her eyes widened when she saw the name printed next to 'surgical fellow':

_Preston Burke, M.D_

Oh, hell. This couldn't be good.

She was preoccupied all day, and half the night by it. As she scoured the place for good food at the ridiculously oversized party at Meredith's, she reviewed the days events in her head. She'd shown the file to Bailey, who asked her to keep quiet until it was sorted out. She'd seen Burke at one point, and watched him closely. He didn't seem bothered; so he couldn't know yet. He spied Bailey tell Burke, and watched her reluctantly hand him the file. Was Burke trying to sweep it under the rug? She'd expected more from him. Not just in a surgical sense, but as a matter of conviction.

So when she spotted Bailey that night – even residents had to unwind, she supposed – she approached her. "So, about that towel thing?"

"We're not going to talk about it," Bailey replied firmly, and wouldn't be swayed, despite Cristina's objections. She moved onto a more pressing topic. "Have you got any bourbon?"

As Bailey walked off, Cristina was worried. She hoped Burke was honourable enough to come forward. He had to be.

"God!" she exclaimed, grabbing a bottle of vodka. She worked hundred hour weeks. She was out of the hospital, at a party, and she was hot. She needed to shake this off. She downed a huge mouthful, and leapt up on the coffee table. It was time for some dancing.

"Baby, you made it!" she exclaimed when she saw Meredith walk in. The two girls and Bambi had some fun drunken revelry that night: dirty dancing on George like teenagers, and whipping his ass at strip poker. Honestly, Cristina recognized, the two were amateurs.

Cristina had no desire to know what time it was when she stumbled into a cab. She was stopped by someone on the way. "Want to share?" a voice slurred.

She looked up, and found a vaguely familiar face glancing down at her. She had a vague memory of Izzie rating him as an 8 out of 10, when he passed them in the hospital halls. Not a bad offer. But…

"Do you work in peds?"

"Yeah, I'm Alistair Sinclair."

He was a pediatric resident. No way was she going down that road again. "I don't think so."

At her apartment, she kicked a path to her bed, and collapsed onto it still in her clothes. When her alarm went off a couple of hours later, she groaned loudly. She almost burned herself to death under a hot shower, and finally opened her eyes long enough to have her ultimate hangover food: reheated pizza. She had shoved two slices in her mouth, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and dashed out the door.

The caffeine was finally beginning to kick in when she hovered with the others outside the Chief's office midmorning, wondering what would happen to Meredith. Cristina disdainfully commented that Meredith would get kicked out on her ass, and Burke would get off. Oh, she would be _pissed_. If Meredith was punished for something that wasn't her fault, and he got off scot-free for leaving a towel inside a patient.

Cristina looked up as Meredith strolled out. McDreamy quickly checked on her – obviously wanting to know if his booty call would still be around – and then she approached them. Cristina wasn't sure what she expected Meredith to say, but she was surprised when the first thing out of her mouth was, "Burke saved my ass in there."

"What happened?" George asked.

"I got one month's probation. The hospital lawyer was grilling me, but Burke totally defended me. Apparently he was the one that left the towel in Mrs. Graves yesterday."

"Seriously?" asked Izzie.

Meredith nodded. "He went on about how doctors should be able to speak up about their mistakes, without it ending their careers. The Chief talked down the lawyer, so we're all good."

Bailey hurried them off to work at that point, but took Cristina aside. "He was always going to tell, he was just waiting for the right time. Information is power." She gave Cristina a look, then strode after her interns.

So, he'd spoken up. He hadn't just been honest, he'd saved Meredith's career. She gazed at him for a long moment, and he met her eyes. God, it was a strong look. She quickly ran away.

He was on her mind all day, but out of sight, in the O.R. She felt the need to say _something _to him. He'd bought her the coffee, she had a feeling it was her move in this cryptic game of theirs. Should she thank him for what he did for Meredith? That didn't seem right. Maybe, she could thank him for the coffee. Yes, that would do.

_Lame _exclaimed an inner voice that she told to shut up.

But she still hadn't seen him by the time they were all packing up for the day. "It's clean up time!" Izzie announced, determined to make it up to Meredith, who smiled grudgingly. "It sure is. You coming?" she asked Cristina.

"I've got a couple of things to finish here, then I'll be there."

Meredith nodded. Still in her scrubs, Cristina hurried to the on-call rooms, where she expected to find Burke. She hoped he was still awake.

What she hadn't expected was to find him standing semi-naked. How did a man who lived in the hospital get time to look that like _that_? He glanced up, silent, his eyes full of feeling. She hurriedly closed the door. And then she did something without the permission of her brain, something distinctively un-Cristina.

She locked the door. He lowered his head when she did this. The air was thick.

_Say something! _Her mind screamed.

"Thanks for the coffee," she let out, and he looked up at her. She held her breath.

The next thing she was aware of were his hands. Such large hands, covering half her face as he held her head and kissed her hungrily. Their first kiss was long and deep, and the second even deeper. This was no gentle, tentative first kiss. This was hot, probing, exploring. His tongue delved into her mouth, and her body was crushed against his. She half held, half-clung to him as she readily returned his kisses, struggling to stay standing, her body slowly melting. His fingers swiftly untied her scrub pants, and she kicked them off. His hands quickly moved under her scrub top, his fingers leaving a trail of fire. They fell back on the bunk, his body flat on hers.

She'd never experienced anything like being with Burke. It was more than the fact that he was obviously experienced, and knew what a woman wanted – he was passionate, sometimes even to the point of desperation. Preston Burke did nothing halfway – not surgery, or sex, apparently.

Cristina rarely loss control but, she cried out – too loudly, given that the hospital was alive with activity on the other side of the door.

It took a while to get their breath back, and to cool off. They lay in silence for a long time afterwards. Cristina didn't usually do this after one night stands. Burke was stroking her hair. Beyond the passion, she guessed he was a tender man. She shifted slightly to look at his face, and he opened her eyes to meet hers. There was something in those chocolate depths, beyond just sexual desire. Perhaps too much feeling. Cristina's brain kicked back in.

"I have to be somewhere."

"Okay," he said quietly. He averted his eyes as she fished for her clothes, sensing the change in her. Pulling her scrub top back on last, she finally looked at him. He was semi-dressed by this stage also. She swallowed. What was she supposed to say?

"I guess you should get some sleep."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But…thanks."

He smiled lazily. "Right back at you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Burke: **

Preston Burke was not a man who broke the rules. It wasn't the sort of upbringing he'd had. His mother and father were firm but fair. He'd never felt the need to be a rule breaker to gain notoriety. He was always naturally popular, and easily attracted friends. He was a hard worker – his mother instilled that in him and his younger sister, Katrina. He was good at his trumpet, at his basketball in high school, and at Tulane and Johns Hopkins. He was good at his studies. He practiced.

He was shy when he was younger, but learnt to take pride in his achievements. He still called it pride, though some would call it arrogance. But he was always by the book. On the basketball court, he was a fair player. He never cheated once in his academic career. He had a keen sense of family, and was protective of his younger sister. He operated rigidly within the rules of the surgery game. And he excelled.

He'd never understood why people broke the rules, not until he became a rule breaker himself. And he'd never expected it to be such a rush.

That wasn't his motivation – he wasn't being a risk taker, suddenly enjoying living on the edge. It was just an interesting byproduct of his new…situation.

If he'd thought she was intriguing before, he'd been wrong. He couldn't for the life of him figure her out now. They'd slept together in the on-call room three times now, within a five day period. It had been a while since Burke had experienced such great sex. But it was already more than that. She captivated him. They'd already established a perfectly regimented routine of her avoiding him, then readily acquiescing to sex with him.

And the looks. It was there, unsaid, all the time, in her eyes. He couldn't help himself, he had to meet her eyes every time she was near her. Often, she was already looking at him. It was enough to make him want to sweep her up and carry her to the on-call room right then and there

This couldn't end well, he knew that. Until he was ready to face that, he just made sure they were careful.

He knew that he was more relaxed about her new arrangement than she was. Not because he was the attending and she was the intern. He thought it had more to do with the fact that not many people got close to her.

He went in early one morning, needing to finish off some paperwork before rounds. And if he happened to see her, that would be a welcome addition.

He had his hands in his pockets as he strode into the foyer, and spotted her waiting by the lift. She was in jeans and a fitted red shirt, her jacket slung over one arm. He went to stand next to her. "Good morning."

She glanced over at him, then back at the lift. "I wouldn't call it good." He chuckled, having grasped the fact that she wasn't a morning person.

"Caffeine hasn't kicked in yet?" he asked as they both stepped into the lift.

"Hell no. I have no idea how I'm going to wake up this morning." As the doors shut, she immediately turned to look at him. "I didn't mean..._that_." He just grinned, and after a moment, a familiar look entered her eyes. "But all the on-call rooms are occupied by everyone from last night…" she trailed off again.

Burke considered for a moment, then pushed a button. "The labs will be empty for another hour or so."

Cristina smirked. "Fine. But I don't have much time before rounds, so it'll have to be quick."

"I'm familiar with the concept," he replied. They stepped off the elevator then walked to the furthest lab, his hands still buried in his pockets. He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. He locked it as she dropped her bag. His mouth hurriedly met hers in what was now a familiar dueling of tongues. He buried his hands in her hair as she began to unbutton the front of his shirt. As he trailed kisses up to her ear, his fingers sought the button of her jeans. As he tugged them down, she pressed her hips against his, and he groaned. He hoisted her up onto the bench, and she laughed, bringing her lips to his neck. He quickly unbuckled his belt, and pulled her close.

Afterwards, she swiftly pulled her jeans back up. "Oh, that was definitely worth being late for."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, as he tried to get his breath back. He was still in disbelief that he'd just had a quickie in the lab. "Thanks." As he pulled he buckled his belt, he asked, "should we…talk about this?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Yeah, definitely," she replied, shouldering her bag and walking out.

He exhaled, then crossed to the bin. He'd made sure they were safe ever since that first time, when everything had happened so quickly. He'd ascertained that she was on the pill, but still, he as a doctor knew the risks more than anyone.

He made his first slip-up that day. He assisted her in gaining brownie points with Bailey so that she could scrub in on Annie's surgery. If anyone was going to go into an excited frenzy over a record breaking tumor, it was Cristina.

He was somber after Annie's death. Cristina was refusing to even talk to him, and he'd helped her scrub in. What was between them had nothing to do with their respective surgical rankings; but he'd helped her anyway.

He found her in an on-call room, stretching her arms and back.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not doing you any more favours. This was it."

She groaned as she collapsed onto the bed, giving a typical Cristina response. She wasn't apologetic, or remorseful, or grateful. She just bitched about holding a tumor for twelve hours.

He leant back against the wall, studying her face. She was the most enigmatic person he'd ever met. "What is this…that we're doing here?"

She propped herself up on her elbows. "You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?" she asked incredulously.

Holding her gaze for a moment, Preston Burke decided that there were better alternatives before him at the time, than being _that _guy.

"Lock the door," he said.

"You lock the door."

"Fine. I'll lock the door."

She pulled her scrub top over her head, thinking she knew what was coming. He gently maneuvered her to lay on her stomach.

"What the…?" she asked, starting to struggle.

"Relax. You've been holding a tumor for twelve hours, or so you just informed me. You could do with a massage."

"Oh…ok." She lay her head on her arms, and Burke flexed his fingers. He gently kneaded her back, starting at the shoulders, and slowly working his way lower. He concentrated on the areas that were particularly tense, applying greater pressure, and a noise escaped her throat. He'd intended this to be a comforting act, one to relieve pain. He was a surgeon, that's what he did. But she _undid _him. Which was why he found her responsive noises completely arousing, and the massage quickly turned sensual.

Later, as they got their breath back, her face curved into a smile. "What massage class did you learn to do _that _in? I think I want to enroll."

Burke laughed.

He was a serious man, a somber man, a skilled man. When his sense of humour emerged, the most he did was smirk.

But for Cristina, he laughed.

A/N Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this, especially for something that's ended up being much longer than a oneshot.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Hey guys. I'm sorry, I know this update has been a long time coming. Please forgive! xo

**Cristina: **

Oh yeah, locking the door had been a _great _idea. That was the first thought that entered her mind when both sticks turned blue.

Of course, the more usual thoughts arrived straight after, flooding her brain so completely that her head throbbed. But in the moment between the shock and the flood, that's what filled her mind.

She had to get rid of it. Of _course _she did. Because she was barely two months into her internship, and she refused to give that up. She hadn't sacrificed for years on end to become a mother. She did it to become a surgeon, and that's what she'd become, simple as that.

Plus, she considered as she made her way to the on-call room, she was not the most nurturing person. She was about as nurturing as Bambi was macho. How could she be responsible for another human being? It just wasn't a possibility.

She was cursing Burke as she walked. He had done this to her, with his smoldering stares and magic hands and hot body and lately he'd turned all considerate…

She rolled her eyes as her thoughts trailed off. She was going soft, the estrogen was kicking in already. She needed to take care of this as soon as possible.

Cristina felt numb as she pushed on the door handle and entered the on-call room; the last thing she expected was to encounter Burke.

She did something that she never did: she froze momentarily. She quickly collected herself, closing the door behind her. She focused on a spot somewhere over Burke's left shoulder. And she waited.

"I brought you some soup." The air was thick with the unsaid, as she remained silent.

"Cristina."

How did he do that? Completely _undo _her, with a single word, just the way he said her name. He always said it articulately, with delicacy. As though even her name was significant.

Unwittingly, she moved her eyes to focus on him. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

His face showed concern, as he moved towards her. "Are you ok?"

She took a step back, stumbling against the door. She was resolute that he could not touch her; his arms must _not _go around her, or she'd completely crumble. "I just feel sick, I need a rest. And I don't want you to catch it, so you probably shouldn't stay."

He hovered, unsure. "Thanks for the soup," she added, trying to soften him up enough to make him leave.

Eventually, he nodded, reaching up and pulling of his scrub cap. "Sure, you're right. I hope you feel better." He reached around her for the door handle, and as she moved to step aside, he briefly rubbed her upper arm. Then, he left.

Cristina collapsed on the bunk behind her, throwing her hand over her face, sighing deeply.

The next day, Cristina would get her sanity back. She would become logical again, and switch into planning mode. She would make an appointment at the abortion clinic. She would ensure she made the earliest possible appointment, and she would move on, so no-one would ever have to know. She would be pragmatic and practical. Emotions would not cloud her.

But tonight, she grieved. For herself, for what was not yet lost, and for the way the room turned colder when Burke left.

'_People are stupid!' _Cristina fumed as she stalked out of the clinic to her motorcycle. The woman had tried to _talk _to her, for godsakes, suggesting she keep the baby. Cristina resented being spoken to as though she was a lost teenage soul trying to hide her illicit pregnancy from Daddy. She was a grown woman, and didn't need to be condescended to by some nurse. Surgeons didn't take advice from nurses.

The stupidity continued. After she palmed off the weird psychic to Izzie, she got the cancerous pregnant woman. Fate was _so_ not on her side that day. Bailey and everyone were acting all emotion about the prospect of evacuating the fetus. It was such a stark contrast to the way Cristina wanted to do it: quietly, and without deliberation. Watching the emotion surrounding her patient unsettled her. Especially when she decided on almost certain death for herself by keeping her baby.

Burke was even more unsettling, when he sought her out just to sit with her. Just to see her. At some point this had moved beyond booty calls, and Cristina couldn't figure out when the line had been blurred. She was too exhausted to bother at that moment.

As she went to go home that night, Cristina straddled her motorbike, yet couldn't muster the energy to start it just yet. She instead leant her elbows on the handlebars, and placed her head in her hands.

"My bovine replacement surgery was successful." Cristina raised her head to find Burke facing her, surveying her evenly. He continued, "what kind of problems don't have solutions?"

He was continuing their earlier conversation, having realized that this comment of Cristina's was loaded. His uncanny perception was part of what made him a gifted surgeon, and the whole reason that Cristina was shifting uncomfortably in that moment. She couldn't slip up again. "Some cases are more difficult than others; some patients are non-operable. But today yours was. I just wanted you to see that."

Would he buy it? She waited with baited breath.

His gaze commanded hers for a moment longer, before he nodded. "Well, I'm glad you did, otherwise I may never have done that surgery. Are you feeling much better? I haven't seen much of you the last few days."

She shrugged, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "I'm getting there."

He leant in closer, obviously worried. For a moment, Cristina thought he would kiss her, but he was smarter than that. Though the carpark was deserted, the hospital still had eyes.

He settled for subtly resting his hand over hers, a movement not obvious to any intruding observers. He squeezed gently as she tried to muster a small smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," Cristina murmured, watching his broad frame as he walked away. For the time in decades, Cristina Yang was tempted to let her walls down. Just a little bit. Because it would be _so _much easier, if he knew, if he helped her get this over with…

Groaning, and wishing that particular fantasy to vanish like smoke on the breeze, she pulled her helmet on and slammed the visor shut. She _would _get a grip, and maintain control of this situation.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Here you go again! Please keep reviewing, I really appreciate it. Hope you guys are still enjoying the read.

**Burke:**

She'd started as entertainment. She then progressed to being captivating. And now? She was downright infuriating. A regular pain in the ass. She avoided him at all costs. She wouldn't give him anything – no information, no personal feelings, no random thoughts or recollections. Just stares full of meaning that he couldn't decipher, and the occasional quickie in the on-call room. There were rare times – once or twice when she opened up to him – but they were brief glimpses into her life, before she clammed up again.

What was most infuriating of all was that Burke couldn't get away from it, from that _feeling._ He wanted more of her, and he didn't know how to make that stop. So, he just decided on pursuing her, until he figured out how else to handle it.

She eluded him several times. She didn't answer his pages. It had been a while since she'd even met him in the on-call room, and she admitted outright she was avoiding him. Burke begin to seriously consider the prospect that he needed his head examined – a neuro consult, a CT, an MRI, _anything_. Because if she wouldn't even meet him in the on-call room anymore, what was he even pursuing? He was the annoying, needy, clingy person that hung on after a fling had fizzled out. That was _not _Preston Burke. He didn't need anyone. He'd have much more of a chance of letting it go if she stopped giving him _that _look. His scrub nurses kept looking at him in alarm when he kept sighing in frustration, or groaning incoherently. Something was going plaguing Dr. Burke, and they didn't know what it was. Even he could barely decipher what it was.

Then something happened, that turned everything around. There are moments in life when one feels all hope is loss; when one is at the end of one's tether, when there is no light at the end of the tunnel, and all other clichés used to express extreme frustration and hopelessness. Preston Burke was consumed by this feeling whenever he spied or thought about Cristina Yang.

Then there was a syphilis outbreak. Seattle Grace was having its own daytime soapie drama, with this incestuous news. Burke was contributing his own small part; but he didn't realize it was so widespread. The Chief summoned the entire surgical floor to deliver the news, and told everyone having unprotected sex with another member of staff to get tested. Burke grimaced internally. They'd been safe since that slip up the first time in the on-call room…he didn't glare glance at Cristina, and kept his face perfectly impassive as they were given a ludicrous safe sex demonstration.

He didn't feel the pressing need to get tested, he wasn't itchy at all…unless Cristina was sleeping with someone else? He dismissed this thought. When would the most driven intern at Seattle Grace find the time to sleep with someone else….but was _that _why she was pulling away? She had been awfully distant lately, he knew something had been on her mind. Being Cristina, she of course refused to talk about it…

Burke folded his arms, his pride wounded. What the _hell _was this woman doing to him?

He hurried out of the room as soon as he could, for once having the self-control not to look at her. He had other things occupying his mind – such as the fact that Bill, his best friend from college, had an ovary. That didn't happen every day.

A little while later, on his way down to the labs, the elevator door opened to let some others out, and Burke glanced up on instinct. He saw Cristina, trying to lean against the wall inconspicuously, and failing miserably. Stopping the door from closing, he walked over to her, with the intention of setting everything straight. He wanted to know if she was seeing someone else, and this provided the perfect opportunity to pry.

Plus, he wanted to see her. And the look she was giving him as he approached her told him that she might actually talk to him this time. He leant against the wall behind her and stared evenly ahead. "You're avoiding me."

She twisted. "I'm busy. I'm working."

Burke cleared his throat, deciding a different approach. "Why are you in this line?"

Now she turned to look at him, giving him the disdainful expression she usually reserved for the other interns, when marveling at their simple-mindedness. "It's the _syphilis _line," she murmured.

"You don't need to be in this line." He removed his glasses and began to clean the lenses. He couldn't look at her at this moment, if he found out they did need to be in this line.

"I don't?"

"There's no-one else." He polished in a clockwise direction, focusing too hard on the object at hand.

He saw her straighten up. "That surprises you?" He held his glasses up to the light, to check for any smudges.

"Nothing surprises me." She hunched over again, resting her chin in her hand. Was she smiling?

Deciding he had to seize the moment before it slipped away, he asked, "do I need to be in this line?" He buried his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists, hoping with all of his strength he didn't need to be. He didn't know why he cared so much. But he knew he wanted more of the confusingly fascinating and annoyingly attractive woman in front of him, and he didn't want to share her with anyone else.

"No."

Burke straightened up immediately, pride back intact. "Ok." He strode away before she caught sight of the wide grin spreading across his face. He couldn't control it, so he decided to let it escape. But he didn't need to give her the satisfaction of seeing it. They were still playing games, and Burke was more than willing to engage.

She was avoiding him, and near impossible to talk to. But there was no-one else. That was enough for now.

Burke was preoccupied for the rest of the day, which iwasperhaps why he didn't notice all of the sneaking around happening in front of his face. Usually his sharp observance of his colleagues meant he didn't miss a beat. But he wasn't aware of the Chief's 'super secret sunset surgery' because he discovered Bill's sterility. And Bill's wife Holly was eight months pregnant with Burke's godson. And she downright refused to tell Bill. So that fell to Burke.

Bill stared at him in horror for a moment. He saw the truth in Burke's eyes though, and let his head fall back to his pillow. Burke lowered his gaze, pretending not to notice his friend's tears. "We've been trying for ten years," Bill eventually croaked. "I should have known."

"You couldn't have." This reply felt enormously inadequate, but it was all Burke could think to say.

"I need some time alone, man."

Burke nodded, standing up. "Of course."

He gaze lingered on Bill, who turned his head to the window, before reluctantly walking out. He habitually walked towards the on-call room where it had first happened, not expecting her to be there. So he was pleasantly surprised to find her sitting on the top bunk, legs dangling over the edge as she leant against the wall, staring at the ceiling. She was still in her scrubs, but he'd thought she was off hours ago.

She glanced up when he entered, then returned her gaze to the ceiling. She shuffled over on the bunk, making room for him to climb up beside her. This subtle move was a huge gesture from Cristina, and Burke didn't hesitate. He sat next to her. "What are you still doing here?"

"Just having a moment of triumph, before I join the other's at Joe's. What's up with you? You look like someone just ran over your puppy."

Burke sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't have a puppy. But my best friend is in here as a patient, and I discovered today that he was sterile."

"So what, he really wanted kids and now he's bummed about it?"

"I think he's more bummed about the fact that his wife is eight months pregnant."

"Oh." Cristina glanced at Burke, unsure of what to say. "That sucks."

"It sure does. Why are you enjoying a moment of triumph?"

Her eyes flashed, and she grinned. "Izzie and I performed an illegal autopsy. Well, it's legal now, but the forms weren't signed while we did it. We saved a woman's life by doing it though."

Burke's shoulders began to shake with silent laughter. She was unpredictable at every turn. "Of course. The everyday happenings at Seattle Grace."

Deciding this was the safest time to press her, he asked, "so, why have you been avoiding me lately?"

She immediately drew her legs up to her chest. "Life as an intern, Burke. I can't always respond to your pages. I have things going on, you know," she finished sharply.

"I know," he responded gently, not meaning to make her get so defensive. "But you seem to be more preoccupied lately."

"Yeah, well. Look, I better get to Joe's, the others are waiting for me."

Burke suppressed a sigh. "Ok." He expected her to vault off the bunk, and leave without a backwards glance. But she briefly turned her head to meet his eyes, and that's all he needed. He leant over to capture her lips with his. She let out a whimper and allowed herself to fall into the kiss, he hands moving to hold his head. She pulled away just as abruptly. Burke raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"They really are waiting for me, so I have not time for _that_. And we both know if we keep on kissing a moment longer, that's what will happen."

He smirked. "Perhaps."

Then, she leapt of the bunk without looking back, and swept out the door.

Burke lay back and closed his eyes. He was hanging in there. He would, for as long as she let him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Hi all. I know this is SO overdue, I'm sorry. Been enjoying some beach holidays, but I've been neglecting you all, so this chapter is for all my fabulous reviewers, your words are always so encouraging!**

**Cristina:**

She felt like she was suspended in time. She was a realist, bending on the side of cynicism; she knew this would come to a head soon. She spent her days waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Even in the early stages of her pregnancy though, weird_ things_ were happening. Annoying things. She found his nearness…what was that feeling, comforting? Had all the hormones made her – she gagged at the mere thought of it – _caring? _She shuddered.

Damn him, and his rippling biceps. She hoped he impaled himself on his own ten blade. What had he done to her?

Like one night, not too long after his bovine replacement surgery, she'd responded to his page immediately. Usually she made him sweat it out a bit. She wasn't desperate, after all. But this time, she went straight to the on-call room. She was too tired for games.

When she entered, he was leaning against the wall, arms folded, absently examining his feet. He began kicking his shoes off, and glanced up at her.

"That's a first, for a while."

"Hmm?" she asked, leaning back against the door.

"You haven't answered a page without at least some resistance, if at all, in a while."

"This may amaze you to hear, Burke, but not all members of the female population are at your beck and call."

He rubbed his neck thoughtfully. "Does that mean most members of the female population are? Who, pray tell? Perhaps I should page them…"

"Of, you arrogant jerk." Cristina turned to yank the door open. In a flash he pressed his hands flat against the door to prevent her escape. Conveniently, she was now trapped between his arms. The generic nature of this seduction would have made her gag.

That is, of course, if it hadn't been so completely alluring.

"Did you just call me an arrogant jerk? Cristina, that's not very nice." His lips hovered inches from hers.

He wasn't usually like this, so playful. He'd grown in confidence around her. As hard as it was to focus, with his breath whispering across her face, she still found her voice. There was still an ounce of Cristina Yang somewhere inside of her, hiding amongst the hormones.

She let a small smile play across her lips, and looked into his eyes. "I never said I was nice."

"Mmm…" was all the response she got. Far more rewarding was the swift movement of his head, ducking to capture her lips with his. She was pinned between the door and his body, but they couldn't stay standing for long.

There was only a brief reacquainting with each other's bodies, before he tugged her scrubs off, and hurriedly removed his own. His passion was sometimes overwhelming, but this time was surprisingly tender. It tugged at Cristina's core, so much so that afterwards, she swallowed a lump in her throat.

It was that blasted _thing _again.

He kept his arms around her, and for once, she didn't object. Cristina lay for a time, counting the rungs on the bunk bed above her, and his heartbeat simultaneously. "I'm glad you answered my page," Burke whispered in her ear eventually, and she burst out laughing.

"That's a brilliant analysis of the situation. But you know what? Me too."

She could sense rather than see his smile. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Depends what it is."

He shifted slightly, moving his arm so he could fiddle with her hair. "Why haven't you been answering as many of my pages lately?"

"It wasn't so long ago you were an intern, Burke. You know what it's like."

She knew there were so many things he could say. Like _'you didn't have trouble in the beginning_,' or, _'I barely ever page you when you're on-call_,' but instead, he let it slide.

"Ok."

Cristina began to wish he'd do something wrong. It would make it so much easier to hate him for putting her in this state. Instead, on extremely disturbing occasions, she get this feeling, like she _needed _him. That made her hate him and want him even more.

It was a complicated emotion. Pregnant women were allowed such liberties.

She tried harder to avoid him, and go back to what she was good at: mocking the misfortunes of others. That became increasingly easy when George was diagnosed with syphyllis. She found a banana from a few months ago stinking out her locker, so she left it in Bambi's as a replica of what his favourite plaything could become if he let it be.

That was fun. But then there was a spanner in the works, _again_. There was a syphilis outbreak on the whole surgical floor. And they recommended that anyone having unprotected sex with another member of the staff get tested.

Damn that one time. She tried to stand inconspicuously in the line, but Burke came across her. And told her that she didn't need to be in that line. That she was the only one.

Another disturbing thing: that news made her happy.

HAPPY!!

She was so screwed. No pun intended.

What's worse, in her happiness, she let her guard down enough to let him know that there was no-one else for her either. They parted in mutual agreement.

What the hell did that mean? Had they just nonverbally agreed on some form of mutual exclusivity? Or was he just glad that they wouldn't turn out like Typhoid Mary and Bambi? Would he have ever told her that she was the only one if there hadn't been the risk of STDs looming overhead?

Cristina groaned as she strode away with Izzie. She had to clear her head and stop this over analysis. Or she'd end up as a blond stick insect on a stool at Joe's downing tequila shots and whining about McDreamy.

Cristina got her groove back by performing an illegal autopsy, and possibly saving the daughter's life. Oh, yeah. _That _was satisfying. There was the control.

Problem was, she told Burke about it. She didn't know why. He'd just found her in the on-call room, and was confiding in her about his best friend Bill's ovary troubles, it had just felt natural to share.

And that was the problem, right there. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Their acknowledgement in the syphilis line had created some illusion of coupledom.

So as much as the kiss that followed made her toes curl, she ran away to Joe's as soon as possible. Because when in emotional turmoil, that's what Cristina Yang did best.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N **So overdue. I was away. I'm back now, yay! Please enjoy:

**Burke:**

Burke had been thinking. When Preston Burke thought, it was serious thinking. Not just your general musing or daydreaming, but deep set scientific analysis of a situation.

The subject of his thoughts this time around?

Cristina Yang. Who else?

This time, he wasn't rethinking the thrill of their trysts in the on-call room, or the way she tilted her head to the side when trying to avoid his eyes.

This time, it was his recent decision to 'hang in there' with her. That was so out of character for him. He did not settle, or accept apathy. Burke was born and bred to excel at everything he tried. This included his personal life. She'd volunteered the information to him that there was no-one else. What more did he need?

Spurred on by the fact that he was interim chief whilst Richard recovered from surgery – him, not Shepherd, he thought smugly – this step-up in his professional life prompted him forward in his personal sphere.

Early one morning he swiftly checked her usual haunts – their usual haunts – the on-call rooms and the labs, only to find them empty. Instinctively, he went to check O.R 1. And there she was, delicately picking up each of the surgical tools, holding them in reverence. Not much was sacred to Cristina Yang, but this place was one of them. His hopes were high. He thought he'd find her in a good mood, an open mood.

He said, "I have a question for you." He explained that he had a favourite restaurant, and that he had reservations there.

She replied shortly. "None of those were questions."

He cleared his throat. "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

He couldn't see her face. Just her momentarily frozen form. He tried to wait in calm patience, but inside he was a nauseous teenager.

He expected a sidestep, or her to run away, maybe an objection because he was an attending. At best, an 'I'll think about it.' But he hadn't expected such an abrupt brushoff.

"The O.R is the one place that I have to that I can come to think. I'm thinking right now."

He immediately straightened up. He was stung, but he was still Preston Burke. He'd keep his composure.

He strode away, his mind working in furious overtime. He was a grown, experienced man. How could he have read the signals so incorrectly? He thought she'd wanted to move forward too. But she couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

That was the moment he resolved enough was enough. He'd had weeks of one step forward, two steps back. Of an illicit fling that morphed into a complicated emotional attachment, to a woman who gave away nothing. After such an outright rejection, he'd reached his limits. That was it. She was on her own until she figured out what the hell was going on in that outrageously mixed-up head of hers.

Besides, he was Chief now. He had other things to consider. Like how best to rub this victory in Shepherd's face.

This resolve, which he thought was oh so strong, had a momentary lapse. When he'd brushed past her, then yelled at her in the stairwell, she'd almost looked hurt. Hurt?! After he'd finally given her a clear path to follow, and she'd turned him down? What the hell was with this woman? He knew of the biological conditionings that resulted in mood swings, but this was ridiculous. He impulsively grabbed her and kissed her, as part of his message delivery:

She didn't know what she wanted? "Figure it out!" he demanded, before leaving her confused.

But the resolve came back after speaking with Richard, about the responsibilities and realities of being in a position of authority. It wasn't so much of a wake-up call, as a forcible end to denial. He'd known from the moment she'd locked that door he was on a slippery slope. From the moment he'd first captured her lips and pulled off her scrubs that it would be a messy landing. But until he figured out how to deal with it, he'd been determined to enjoy the ride.

There was only one way to land, though. And it seemed to ride was up.

He watched her during Joe's surgery, smiling softly at how elated she was. He was pretty thrilled himself, and the thought of resurrecting everyone's favourite bartender. In their arena, he realized this was just how it had to be. Their jobs came first, and always would. They shouldn't get in each other's way.

He had an inkling she'd find him afterwards, in the on-call room. She usually did on a post-surgery high. It was when she was at her most vibrant and expressive. He hated to take advantage of that now.

He'd miss the stolen moments, the easy banter, their loaded glances. Hell, he'd even miss how much she infuriated him. But he was determined to breathe it out, and let it go.

She opened the door, and he looked up.

This was the end of round one. Little did he know that there'd eventually be a round two, and it would be much more tumultuous.


	10. Chapter 10

**Cristina:**

The sixteenth was getting closer. The day this nightmare would end. She'd have the fetus evacuated, and then life would return to normal. She would again arrive at the hospital at 4am to steal all the good charts. She'd discover a medical miracle, and would be in all the journals as the intern who saved the day. She'd one up all the other interns – including Meredith. Friendship didn't have a place in the pragmatic mind of Cristina. She'd be known from wall to wall and floor to floor as the best damn intern in the hospital. She'd be Chief resident one day, and then would sail through her fellowship by pioneering her own new surgical methods. So, there was the Grey Method? Why just the singular. She would be better than Ellis Grey. There'd be 500 Yang methods. Stanford would run a course for the entirety of their med program studying each of these methods. Because she was just that good.

And somewhere in there, somehow, she'd detach herself from Burke. That was surely the only way forward

This was the plan. So why was everyone so determined to mess with it? Why did Burke decide now was a good time to ask her out?

On a _date_? Was he serious? Dates were for people who were getting to know each other, who were considering a relationship. Cristina didn't want anything from Burke except an occasional screaming orgasm.

Then Meredith decided to get pissy with her for not telling her that Burke was the father. How did she know that?

George saw them in the stairwell. Oh, that. Shit

In the midst of imagining the way Bambi could die (the slow, debilitating death of syphilis wasn't good enough for him), she allowed her mind to revisit that moment in the stairwell…

She'd been banging up the stairs, and threw a careless "hey" in his direction. Despite everything, she figured a greeting was a given, due to the countless times they'd seen each other naked. From several angles.

He just shook his head and continued past her. What, he didn't talk to her now he was Chief? And he was mad at her?

"You don't want to go out to dinner! You won't meet me in the on-call room, and you sure as hell don't want to talk to me."

She met his eyes and gaped at what she saw there. He was _hurt_. The untouchable Preston Burke was hurt by her.

He was hurt by her and yelled at her and kissed her in a way that was just as erotic as when he took her against the door of the on-call room.

Why couldn't everyone just follow the plan?

The worst flaw in the plan was the turmoil she felt within herself. She wanted to be emotionless and detached about this abortion. She wanted to stop dashing into patients rooms and vomiting. She wanted to stop caring about things. She wanted to stop considering the fact that if Burke was hurt she wouldn't go on a date with him, he sure as hell would care that she was pregnant with his child and was about to abort it, all without his knowledge.

She strode out to the vending machines, groaning. After emptying the contents of stomach into the toilet in Joe's room, she needed to put something else in there. She had the unfortunate luck of running into Alex by them. "Hey, Yang. Who'd you have to screw to get into that standstill surgery, huh?"

"The guy we've all hired to kill you."

"Someone's pissy."

"You have that natural influence on people, evil spawn." She gave the vending machine a kick. Why wouldn't it deliver her damn peanuts?

"Take the stick out of your ass and chill, Yang. It'd do wonders for you."

Why was it Alex's advice that was bouncing of the walls of her skull during Joe's surgery? She stood there, just watching Burke. He was in control of this O.R. He was the one everyone would look to when things began to get tense, when Shepherd took too long. But he was calm, and collected, and in control. He was hurt by an intern who wouldn't date him, but he was still interim Chief, and a brilliant surgeon.

Maybe Cristina could relax her plan. Just a little. Going out for a bite to eat was just sitting opposite him while they shoved food in their mouths, right? They'd done it plenty of times side-by-side in the on-call room.

There's nothing like killing a man and bringing him back to life to push you forwards.

As she approached the on-call room, she was excited. And not just because of the divine thrill of that surgery. Because a possible date with Preston Burke awaited her.

And god, who knows? Maybe even the chance to halve this burden.

She left that on-call room in a confused flurry. What the hell had just happened?

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then she went to find Meredith. They had some major drinking to do that night.

Meredith moaned and bitched about her philandering married boss. Fair enough. Cristina poured vodka down her throat as she considered how calculated and manipulating _her _hot arrogant boss was. He'd lowered her defenses, all right. He'd gotten into her scrubs, into her mind, even into her feelings. Then he dumped her. _He _dumped _her. _There was something very wrong with this picture.

And whether the problem was estrogen or penises or pregnant women who cared, the fact still remained that she'd lost something that night. And she was beginning to wonder how she felt about losing one more thing, the last piece of him she still carried around with her.

**A/N **We're getting near the end. This will end when 'coupledom' begins officially. But thank you so much for all my readers and reviews, I hope this is still fun for you!


	11. Chapter 11

**Burke:**

'_This job was enough for him.'_

He reminded himself of this, as he fell back onto his bed, the shadows of his apartment lengthening around him. The lights from the neighbouring apartment were blaring uninvited into his bedroom. He groaned, and swiftly crossed to close the blinds. He wanted darkness and solitude for his thoughts. He wanted to regain his control and his composure. He wanted…

What?

He wasn't entirely sure. But ending it with Cristina had been the first step in attempting to regain his perspective. He quashed the desire he had to be in the on-call room then and there with Cristina – _with Dr Yang _– he corrected himself.

The following day he needed to oversee everything, and be everywhere, and hold all the answers. The board was busy and overcrowded, he had squabbling surgeons, bumped surgeries, organs required, and everyone looked to him to provide wisdom.

He held his head up, and walked erect. He did his utmost to keep calm and collected, and to judge each situation levelly. But control, especially when we desire it the most, is elusive. Had he been speaking with Cristina about what they were each actually feeling, he would have discovered she was experiencing a similar struggle. But he'd made the decision that being detached and professional was the way to forge ahead. Otherwise, how would he ever be Chief one day?

Still, she herself seemed to be everywhere. In the lobby at the start of the day, observing his interaction with Shepherd over his bumped surgery. Burke went through the motions with Derek, but was acutely aware of Cristina. Of the dark circles he glimpsed under her eyes, as the elevator doors took her from his sight.

There she was, when four MVA victims, one already dead, overtook the E.R, and a complicated family situation arose. Burke levelly assessed the situation: he had Bob Seabird, who had six hours left on the operating table. The end of this six hours would spell his end, unless his son, Scotty, agreed to a liver transplant.

To his dismay, Cristina had her own assessment of the situation, as she was the intern assigned to his wife's case, Mia. She saw: a wife beater; an angry, dangerous man who had already killed another on the road that day. This was not the kind of human being who deserved a second chance, especially when his young son was already agonizing over the decision.

He kept his gaze fixed on her as she was by Mia's bedside, because he was disapproving of how she was casting her judgments of the situation onto the patient. The fact that he was so openly staring quite escaped his attention. For he was regaining control of this situation, or so he told himself.

He took Cristina aside outside the room, and asked her to explain itself. The situation was complicated, she asserted.

"For social workers, yes! Not for you. It isn't up to you."

He began to walk away, when he heard her snide reply, "you've made that perfectly clear."

Anger flared up in him, as he spun back to face her. How dare she address him like that? She was an intern addressing the interim Chief. She should accept his teachings. "Well, I'm glad we have an understanding," he responded coolly.

"I'm sure you are," she spat back icily, before striding away.

Burke immediately glanced around, making sure noone had viewed this interaction, before he swiftly left.

The day continually worsened. In addition to all the overwhelming responsibilities of being Chief, he had Dr. Orson badgering him repeatedly about whether there was a liver coming for his patient. Burke strode tiredly to his temporary office, hoping Karev had a firm handle on the situation with the Seabird boy.

He stopped short at the sight of Adele in the office, but let her go about her business. His ears perked up at her mentioning her desire for Richard to retire. She easily perceived this. She declared that he was perfect for this job.

That part was a compliment. But how was it that she had described him? Unattached and obsessive? He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. He was fine over the assessment of him being obsessive about his job. Any surgeon at the top of their game needed to be. Unattached? Perhaps now, but he didn't always want to remain that way.

But he wanted to be so much more than this. Could he be so much more, and still be a successful Chief?

He sighed, and began to polish his glasses. Today was a terrible day. Even his dream seemed diminished, in some capacity. Control always seemed beyond his reach.

He needed to reassess. What could he control?

His decisions, and how far the influence of these stretched. That was his first realization, as two of his doctor's tussled over a potential transplant patient. Several patients were waiting for this woman's organs. But she was decerebrate, Shepherd and O'Malley argued. She needed more tests. All the while that this struggle was occurring, he was keenly aware of Cristina's eyes on him. Oh, how he was on trial for all in that moment.

So he did what he could: he judged the situation, and made a decision based on what he could control. All day, and for the last little while in his life, things had been slipping from his grasp because he was trying to control _everything. _Perhaps he needed to settle for a smaller realm of reach.

He gave the patient to Shepherd. He mentioned the fact that perhaps Bob Seabird wasn't deserving of a transplant to demonstrate to Cristina that he wasn't as pigheaded and arrogant as he possibly appeared in her eyes at that moment. That thought had occurred to him after he cooled off. Why had she responded so aggressively to him? Because he hadn't just been professional when he'd broken up with her. He'd been downright cold. He needed to ease up a bit. He wanted to show her that he could listen to her. That he wasn't completely untouchable. But still, he was interim Chief, and needed to maintain what authority he could.

"That's not my call," he said, in relation to Bob. "But you know what is?" he raised his voice so all could hear him. "Everything else."

They needed to hear that. This was part of the burden of being Chief that Richard had tried to communicate to him. You were isolated. People would always complain and second guess your decisions, as much as others may support you, and look to you for guidance. But above all, you needed to maintain the appearance of order and control, even if you didn't always feel it. Because without that psychological support of structure, the surgical wing of the hospital would crumble. That was why there was a rigid hierarchy, from Chief, right down to the interns. So that the surgical wing was fully functional, never crippled, always at the top of its game. So as many lives as possible could be saved.

As he glanced at Cristina, her eyes full or _something_, he knew he had recently messed with this hierarchy. Looking at her filled him with the feeling that sometimes, the lines could be blurred. But his head was too full to work out how, and when. That was for another day's musing.

He concluded the day by making peace with Cristina. To his amusement, and admiration, she declared she would be fine, as long as she could scrub in. Perhaps she could maintain control better than he could. But nonetheless, they had made peace. He hoped this meant it would be back to business as usual.

If there was a small part of him that lamented this, he ruthlessly buried it.


End file.
